


In your chest, whatever happens (Bugs, bugs, bugs)

by Apsacta



Category: Twosetviolin
Genre: Bugs, M/M, OH MY GOD MY EYES ARE BURNING WHYYYYYYYY, Other, it's the weirdest shit i've ever done, maybe best to skip this one if you're a bit sensitive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:34:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25524481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apsacta/pseuds/Apsacta
Summary: 🦗🦗🦗
Relationships: Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Comments: 46
Kudos: 43





	In your chest, whatever happens (Bugs, bugs, bugs)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [enlaurement24](https://archiveofourown.org/users/enlaurement24/gifts).



> WARNING: Do NOT take this too seriously, or you’re going to feel extremely weird at the end. You trust my warnings, don't you? So please, be mindful of this one. If you're squirmish, pass this one. If you don't want to be weirded out, pass this one. I recommend listening to Prokofiev Symphony n° 5 instead. It's really nice.
> 
> You're still here? I recommend listening to Prokofiev Symphony n° 5. I listened to it while I wrote most of this.
> 
> I'm sorry. It got out of hand so fast

i.

“General Yang?”

The night is cold and dark and already way too far advanced. There’s only the vague echo of soldiers singing coming from the distance.

And the chirping noise of someone calling, just outside the tent.

“General Yang?”

Brett pretends he doesn’t hear it. He has a million of other, more important things on his mind, a million of other, more important things that require his immediate attention when the voice calling him does not.

It’s with a displeased noise that he returns his attention to the map that is spread out on the trestle table in front of him. He has already looked at it a thousand times, from every possible angle, but he’ll look at it a thousand more, if he has to. He will examine it until he finds the flaw. There has to be one. 

He is taken out of his meticulous examination by a soft sigh directly to his left, and he twists his head ever so slightly. The sigh sounds like defeat, and it angers him, but he will do his absolute best to remain in control. He will not get mad just because he is definitely surrounded by an army of incompetents.

“The city’s impregnable, sir,” Brett’s aide says with a voice so quiet that it is barely audible.

Brett does hear it, though, and he slams the table in anger. Fuck remaining calm, fuck not getting mad, if it’s to hear stupid shit like this.

Papers fly across the tent, fluttering to the ground, and the aide jumps back in surprise. He’s new here, and clearly not used to Brett’s temper yet.

“We’ve been at it for too long,” Brett grunts, “I won’t have everyone die out here for this. We are going to take this city, _and_ we are going to squash these fucking cockroaches.”

There’s a fire to the way he speaks that could alarm anyone, and the aide doesn’t look particularly brave to begin with. He retreats to a corner of the tent and eyes Brett fearfully.

“They say its walls were built by gods,” he mutters, shy, from a safe distance, “they say no one can breach them.”

Brett looks at him like he could kill him – and by god, he could, they’ve been stuck outside these walls for long enough. There’s only one thing he wants, and it’s to end it all. As soon as possible. Enough with all the bullshit. He’s going to crush them. 

He’s about to say just that – admittedly in a slightly more colourful way – when the voice outside rings again.

“General Yang?”

“What!” he barks.

The cloth is pulled back a little, and for a few seconds the night is filled with the sound of soldiers singing. It’s nice that they can unwind that way, but Brett doesn’t have that luxury. He’s got a war to win.

“A message for you from high command,” the voice outside chirps.

ii.

“Why me?” Eddy asks, puzzled.

He stares at his father like he can’t comprehend what exactly he’s just been told, but the king just waves a little, annoyance seeping through every gesture, before he’s already turning towards someone else.

“Why me?” Eddy repeats, and he can feel anxiety rise up like bile from his stomach. “I’m not a diplomat.”

Ever since the enemy army descended upon them like a plague of locusts, his life has been turned upside down. His anxiety has reached new highs, not helped in the slightest by the months spent trapped inside the city walls. It is starting to feel like Eddy has spent half his life dreaming about the outside world without getting a chance to explore it. He had almost given up hope, resigned to live and die with the high walls as his only horizon.

That was, before the eventuality of a peace treaty was dangled in front of his eyes.

“Come on, Eddy,” the king says with an exasperated move of his head, looking back towards his son, “don’t be a fucking slug about it.”

“But – but shouldn’t negotiating a peace treaty be left to the charge of more competent people?”

Eddy feels like he’s got a point there, but everyone else in the war room snickers. Like Eddy is the dumbest person alive. Like he’s the only one here not in on the joke. _Just like old times_ , Eddy thinks.

“Are you a royal or not?” 

Eddy sighs. He is, though he wishes he weren’t, more often than not. If he weren’t, maybe he’d be free to do something else, leave this place, finally live a little, maybe. There’s got to be more to life than this.

“Y-Yeah?”

“Then everything’s fine. Go impress them with your fancy words, and bring us back a signed piece of paper. Or whatever.”

“Isn’t it – isn’t it, you know, _dangerous?_ They’re... you know... _not like us_.” The last bit is whispered in an almost fearful tone, and another snicker goes round the room.

“You’ll be fine,” the king says. From his tone only, Eddy can tell that he’s being dismissed.

“I’ll do my best,” Eddy says, straightening his back. “I’ll bring us peace.”

There’s another round of laughter as he exits the room.

It’s infuriating, really.

iii.

Brett is very used to being surrounded by incompetents. It’s all he ever does, really, babysitting useless worms.

This, though, this is incompetence to a whole new level, and he can’t say he was prepared for it.

He doesn’t even have the words to describe it. And even if he could find the words, it wouldn’t be a very nice description, because he – ugh, he doesn’t even know words that aren’t derogatory terms to name them, he has, after all, been taught to hate them all his life – so this, whatever, is the most useless idiot Brett has had the displeasure to meet.

How on earth they are supposed to get along enough to negotiate a peace treaty is beyond him. First of all, this fucking dumbass rocked up late, and not by a few minutes. No, he was late as in wasting-Brett’s-time late, late as in making-everyone-think-he’s-not-going-to-show-up late. Brett is ready to cut off his head by the time he arrives, which is his preferred way of dealing with them, anyway.

So he rocks up late, a flurry of flailing limbs, looking... well, Brett isn’t very well-versed in descriptive words, but he looks weak. Frail. Fragile. Powerless. Stupid. Naïve and foolish. Certainly ill-equipped for this. Too gentle. And then he has the guts to smile – is that even a smile though? – and all he says is ‘ _ah, sorry. I got lost. I’m Eddy. Eddy Chen.’_ Honestly, Brett would have rolled his eyes, if he could do that. He was itching to just take him off. Get it over and done with. Or at least punch him in the mouth, to teach him.

He was seriously considering just that, when his aide whispered, somewhere to Brett’s left _‘he’s one of their princes’_.

Ah. _Fuck._ So much for injuring him, then. Ugly fucker.

It is not the only thing that is unpleasant about Eddy Chen, though. Oh no. If it were only his lateness... He’s a nervous talker apparently, and there is seemingly no stopping this babbling mouth. The nervousness at least Brett can understand. He would be nervous too, if he were alone in an enemy camp, fragile and defenceless. The talking, however, annoys him to the highest level.

To top that – and gods, there was enough already without needing anything to top it - Eddy Chen may be the worst negotiator Brett’s ever met. He spends ages bickering about the smallest details, to the utmost despair of everyone present. It’s like he refuses to admit defeat. In anyone else, Brett would admire the quality. As it stands, it irks him more than anything.

“Please, let’s share dinner,” Brett offers when the first round of talks ends, as tradition demands, and the words grate like sandpaper when he pulls them out of his throat.

The fact that Brett Yang, renowned general, has to negotiate a peace treaty with Eddy Chen, apparent dumbass, is a joke on a cosmic level.

iv.

Eddy would be lying if he said that he wasn’t utterly terrified when he arrived – these people were, after all, the monsters that plagued his childhood nightmares, the infestation from all the cautionary tales, the evil vermin in all the stories he grew up on – but somewhere during dinner, his fear dulled down a bit. He’s still a little afraid of that general Yang, but somewhere deep inside, Eddy can sense that he’s a decent fellow. He even tells him so, to his face, undoubtedly helped by the decent amount of beer that he’s consumed – he’s always been partial to beer.

The general seems horrified. “Please don’t ever say that again.”

“Don’t you like it when people say nice things about you?” Eddy says. He can feel his eyes widening. _Who are these people, and how do they live?_

“You’re drunk already, aren’t you?”

“Nah, I’m fiiiine,” he says, then, after giving it some thought, he adds “Why don’t you like me?”

He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, but it’s too late to take them back so he looks at the ground in shame. _Fuck._ He’s here to bring back peace. Not to sound like he’s fishing for appreciation.

From the corner of his eye, he can see Yang facepalm.

“I’m sorry,” Eddy mumbles – ouch, he feels like such an idiot, “I just – it would be a lot easier to do this if we all just got along.”

“Holy moly. How naïve are you?”

“I just...” Eddy shrugs. He has never been that embarrassed in his life. And he’s got quite a history of embarrassing moments. But this... Yep, it’s the worst.

“Please just stop.”

Eddy opens his mouth to protest. He feels like he’s given the wrong impression here. He’s not naïve – well, he’s not just naïve. He’s pretty sure there’s a decent point to make in there somewhere. Everything _would_ just be easier if they could all get along. Take him for example. He’s been afraid of grasshoppers all his life. But everything’s fine. Brett – general Yang, sorry – hasn’t done anything to harm him. He’s okay. He’s more than okay. He’s nice. Grasshoppers have nice legs...

“Not everything that pops into your brain has to come out of your mouth, Eddy Chen.”

Eddy’s head snaps up and his mouth falls open. “I did not just say that.”

“Yeah you did. You just mumbled an entire monologue about world peace and grasshoppers legs.”

“Oh.”

“You’d better leave, I think. We shall continue the talks tomorrow.”

Brett Yang looks at least as embarrassed as him, even though Eddy doesn’t understand why. He agrees, though. He’d better leave. He’s kindly been offered his own tent, and he’s going to take advantage of it to hide his shame.

v.

When the cockroach leaves, Brett doesn’t sleep. He’s never been so embarrassed in his life. How can this even be happening? This dude... this goddamn dude... _It would be a lot easier if we just got along_... How is this even real? How is peace even possible with these people? And that thing about his legs... Brett’s never been more embarrassed in his life.

He’s still awake when dawn breaks and there’s a gentle rapping at the door.

“What!” he shouts, angry. Why can’t everyone leave him alone?

“It’s me,” comes a small voice from outside.

And as such. It’s Eddy Chen.

 _Motherfucker._ “What do you want?”

“Can I come in?”

Having him come in is the last thing that Brett wants. But he is also very aware that offending the cockroach prince could jeopardize the peace talks, so... “Alright, come in.”

“I’ve come to apologize,” Eddy says, looking at everything but Brett. “The things I’ve said...”

“Yeah, let’s forget about that.”

“Thank you.”

Brett watches as Eddy remains where he is standing, doesn’t understand why he isn’t leaving, and understands what he wants even less. Holy moly, roaches are weird. They’re too massive, to begin with. Not graceful at all. This brings Eddy’s comments about his legs back to mind, and Brett feels his blood pooling in his head. When he tries to speak to shoo the cockroach away, nothing comes out.

Eddy takes this as an opportunity to open his goddamn mouth again.

“Can we – can we talk about the treaty?”

Brett takes a deep breath and finally finds his voice again. “Shouldn’t we wait for everyone else, first?”

Eddy looks embarrassed. It’s almost endearing, how he can’t even look at Brett properly. “It’s just – I’d rather talk just to you. It’s – it’s easier. I like you.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“It’s true though. You’re nice. For a grasshopper, you’re nice. I... even...”

“Please don’t say more.”

“Even if you’re, you know...,” Eddy whispers at this point, like he’s telling a secret, “even if you’re supposed to be the enemy, I like you more than some of my people. You’re very...”

“Just shut up please.”

Brett absolutely doesn’t want to hear more, has half a mind to send him back but at the last minute changes his mind because there is something endearing to how inept Eddy is. Brett’s horrified at the thought. How is he supposed to kill them if he starts finding them qualities? But the way his little limbs flail around when he speaks... _goddammit._

vi.

Eddy thought that it would be easier to have the discussions just with Brett. He’s growing fonder by the second, even if he couldn’t explain why. It’s... he likes the way he talks. And even worse, he kind of likes the way he looks. The shame.

He was wrong about everything else though, because a few minutes in, they’re already arguing, and even though he’s not afraid of Brett Yang anymore, being shouted at by him because Eddy is too naïve to his taste is not something enjoyable.

“Goddammit, Eddy,” Brett says. “You’re not cut for this.”

He tries to grab Eddy by the shoulder, and Eddy steps back, angry too. He’s not a stupid kid anymore. He knows what he’s doing. His anger evaporates the moment he trips on his own feet and falls to the ground with a soft thud, back against the soil, legs wiggling in the air. He doesn’t even remain calm for half a second after that, quickly losing all control, shrieking in terror. He can’t help it. Falling on their backs is their weakness.

“I’m gonna die,” he hisses in a heaving panic. “I can’t get up, oh god, I’m gonna die like this.”

“You’re overdramatic,” Brett chirps, but his amusement quickly dies when Eddy doesn’t get up, continues to wail.

“Fine, stop wiggling like that, I’ll help you up.”

Brett leans down to help him, but in his panic Eddy clasps all his limbs around him, drumming them against his sides. He knows he’s losing it, but he can’t stop. He doesn’t want to die. Not before he’s had a chance to travel the world. He wants to see the sea at least once.

“Stop this,” Brett says, voice dropping dangerously low, in a tone that does _something_ to Eddy. “Stop this, these are my ears. I can feel the drumming in...” Brett’s voice hitches, then, and he doesn’t finish his sentence.

The revelation is enough to calm Eddy down momentarily. “Your ears?”

“Do I question you about cockroach anatomy? Now...” He pushes down to adjust his grasp, and Eddy gasps.

“What now?” Brett asks, half annoyed.

“I – sensitive part,” Eddy mumbles, trying to avoid Brett’s gaze, but he can’t, stuck on the ground like he is. He still feels the shivers going up his back. It’s embarrassing.

“The end of your tail?” Brett shakes his head in disbelief.

“Your ears are on your belly!” Eddy protests, and Brett pushes down once more to shut him up.

Eddy gasps again, hisses softly, like can’t believe Brett’s actually doing this. “What are you doing?” he asks when Brett doesn’t stop pressing down.

“Should I stop?”

“N-n-no. Please.”

By the time Brett manages to get him back on his feet, Eddy’s feeling strangely hazy. He kind of wishes noises outside hadn’t stopped Brett from doing what he was going to do. He can’t understand the things he’s feeling anymore.

Eddy feels residual shudders along his back throughout the meeting that follows.

He doesn’t dare looking at Brett for the rest of the day.

vii.

Brett can’t look at Eddy for the rest of the day.

He fears that if he did... well, he fears that if he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from crossing the room and touch him, feel the difference between the firm wings on his back and the softness of his underbelly. He wishes for Eddy to clasps his legs around him again. He can almost feel it, still, the drumming against his sides, the echoes throughout his entire body. He wishes Eddy would touch him more, and he wishes to touch Eddy more, hear the gasps again, the hisses. God, the hisses. There was a mistiness to Eddy’s gaze when Brett pressed down on him, and he sort of wishes to see it again. He wishes he hadn’t been interrupted. He wishes... he wishes to fuck this dumb cockroach until he begs for mercy.

He should feel ashamed, but he doesn’t.

He wants their antennae to touch.

viii.

Grasshoppers sing when night falls.

Eddy was never aware of this fact. He thought that he knew everything that there was to know about them. He thought that he’d heard all the stories, all the tales, but he has never heard about this. He was never taught that grasshoppers could sing. He was never taught that they could treat him like an equal, that they could touch him without disgust, that he would actually enjoy their company. He was never taught that he could want their touch, want them to make him feel things again.

Maybe, then, all he was ever taught about grasshoppers was a lie. Maybe they are not the monsters they’re made out to be. Maybe they are worthy of love. Maybe Brett’s worthy of his love.

He should feel embarrassed, but he doesn’t.

He wants their antennae to touch.

ix.

It’s night and Eddy’s back in his tent.

Brett watches him, doesn’t know what to do. He was wrong. There is a gracefulness to the way he moves. It’s just different to what he’s used to. Different. Not bad.

“What do you want?” he’s afraid to ask, asks anyway. He’s not sure, his voice comes out weird, almost foreign. Too soft. Too gentle.

“Grasshoppers sing,” Eddy says. He moves closer and Brett doesn’t know what to do.

“Yes. It’s what we do.”

“I never knew. Do you sing as well?”

“I don’t have the time for that.”

“Oh. Sorry.” There is a pause, a short silence. “I can’t sing,” Eddy continues. “I can whistle, though. Do you want to hear?”

 _He talks because he’s nervous,_ Brett thinks. _Why? Why is he nervous? Why am I nervous?_

“Do you guys dance?” Eddy asks again.

“No. We jump.”

“Ah. We don’t dance either, but I thought, maybe we can try.”

He’s right in front of Brett now, limbs extended in his direction, and Brett can’t look away, transfixed. He doesn’t know how to dance, but for Eddy... for Eddy he will try. 

“I bite,” he finds himself saying when Eddy clasps his limbs around him, swaying slowly.

“Sorry?”

“I bite, when I ... You know... if we... sometimes I bite.”

“Oh. Okay,” Eddy nods.

Brett still doesn’t know why he’s doing it, but it’s alright. He touches the soft part of Eddy’s belly and Eddy shudders, and Brett feels good.

Their antennae touch, soft, hesitant. And then the rest of their bodies. Every part. All of it.

“Is this okay? Is this good?”

But Eddy doesn’t answer. He just holds Brett tighter, runs one of his antenna along Brett’s, slowly.

“You can bite,” he says, writhing a little when Brett strokes at his tail. “I don’t mind.”

So Brett bites, gently, against Eddy’s neck, and Eddy does that soft hiss that hasn’t left Brett’s mind since the first time he’s heard it.

It’s so strange, Eddy’s body, soft in some places and hard in others. Brett’s not used to it, but he wants to learn.

Eddy wants to learn too, probably, because he keeps touching Brett, all over, soft touches, so soft, keeps touching at Brett ears, and Brett feel the touches reverberate through him, sound waves through his entire body, sensations almost turning into colours, vibrant flashes, it’s too good and he wants to do the same to Eddy but doesn’t know how.

So he keeps touching, harder than Eddy touches, he wants to mark.

It’s not enough, eventually, so he pushes Eddy down, sneaks one arm under him to feel the softness, to feel him shudder when he starts fucking him.

He’s not gentle about it, but Eddy doesn’t seem to mind. He’s hissing when Brett pushes against him, nice sound right next to Brett’s head. _Brett, BrettBrettBrett_. More whimpers and Brett’s almost losing his mind. If he bites near Eddy’s neck, he hisses more, pushes himself to get closer to Brett. _Yes, hiss. My cockroach._ He holds Eddy throughout, as close as he can, so he doesn’t miss a sound, a shudder, a word. _Brett, bite, bite, Brett._ And he bites, because Eddy wants. Anything Eddy wants, anything. He would never have thought – no one before – he can barely think anymore, the way Eddy moves when Brett rubs at his tail, touches his antennae – an explosion of everything – he can’t form coherent sentences _Eddy, cockroach, Eddy –_ he’s never felt – it’s just Eddy, no one else – _my cockroach, mine, mine._

Light. Just clear, bright light.

x.

When Eddy wakes up, Brett’s still there, pressed against him. He’s running one antenna against the side of Eddy’s face. He’s got one leg under Eddy’s belly, too, and when he realises that Eddy is awake, he runs it softly against the end of Eddy’s tail, the part where he’s so sensitive that any touch makes him shudder.

He whimpers softly as he tries to rub himself against Brett, and he’d almost feel ashamed of it, if Brett wasn’t mirroring the sound.

 _Fuck,_ Eddy thinks, and everything inside him turns hot, blinding white, light turned up to its brightest whilst all noises outside of those made by Brett are muted.

His mind flashes back, offering him memories of Brett on top of him, of sounds and colours blending together, Brett touching him, biting him, Eddy losing all sense of time and space, Brett rubbing at his tail, pushing himself inside Eddy, a little rough, like he owns him.

 _EddyEddy, cockroach_ , Brett says, and Eddy desperately wants to reach out to him but falls just too short, curses his inadequate limbs. If he can just move around a little, turn to his side, then he’ll be able to touch, to trap Brett in his limbs, press himself against him.

“Don’t,” Brett warns. “You’re going to end up on your back again.”

“No, I won’t,” Eddy says stubbornly. Then he miscalculates and rolls all the way on his back.

Brett laughs as he helps him roll over again.

Eddy didn’t even know grasshoppers could laugh.

The sound fills him with something warm and cottony inside, like he’s just swallowed a cloud. He didn’t even know he could feel like this, before Brett.

“Is this love?” he asks softly. “I think it might be.”

“What’s love?” Brett asks.

“It’s this,” Eddy says, moving down, running his antennae along Brett’s body. He’s going to touch every part of him he can reach, feel him until he can recreate his shape by memory. He’s going to brush against his sides, because Brett shivers whole-bodied when Eddy does this and there’s very little in the world that’s better than that, better than exploring this strange creature, better than getting sounds out of him that make Eddy proud to be alive.

Brett lets him do this for a moment, little chirping sounds coming out of him every time Eddy reaches a new spot, then he pushes Eddy away a little, with gentle intent, and Eddy rolls on his belly to allow Brett on top of him.

“I think I love you, then,” Brett says as he bites Eddy a little below his neck to steady himself as he takes what’s his.

Eddy dissolves into light a little later, with the weight of Brett on him and the sound of his own hissing ringing too loud in his ear.

Whatever happens, Brett’s worthy of all the love in Eddy’s chest.

xi.

“General Yang?”

The night is cold and dark and already way too far advanced. There’s only the vague echo of soldiers singing coming from the distance. Someone’s calling him from outside the tent, but Brett pretends he doesn’t hear. He doesn’t have the time. He has a million of other, more important things on his mind, a million of other, more important things that he wants to do to Eddy, a million of other, more important things that he wants to do with Eddy.

But the caller is relentless.

“General Yang?”

“What!” he barks.

“A message for you from high command,” the voice chirps, and as Brett listens, his heart drops.

It’s almost morning when Brett gets to Eddy’s tent.

Eddy’s there, waiting. He’s tapping his feet to the rhythm of the grasshoppers singing outside.

He’s beautiful for a cockroach.

No.

He’s beautiful. Cockroach or not. He’s the most beautiful being Brett’s ever seen.

His chest hurts.

“What’s wrong?” Eddy asks, because he sees immediately that something is wrong.

Brett shakes his head.

“Is it about the peace talks?” Eddy insists.

“There is no peace talk,” Brett says eventually. “There never was. It was all a ruse from your side. To distract us while they prepare an attack.”

“What? No. It can’t be,” Eddy protests, then he falls silent for a long time. Brett can see the exact moment hope leaves his eyes. “I didn’t know, Brett,” he says in the smallest voice. “I swear I didn’t know. There has – there has to be something I can do...”

“There isn’t,” Brett says. He tries to sound tough, but he doesn’t even manage that. His voice has been betraying him more and more often, ever since he met Eddy. “They want to kill you. Make an example out of it. As a warning.”

Eddy falls silent and looks at him for the longest time. Then he nods slowly. “Fuck me,” he says. “Fuck me, and then you can kill me, if you have to.”

So Brett fucks him.

Soft.

Slow.

He doesn’t kill him, though.

He never could.

“Run away with me, my cockroach,” he whispers when morning breaks. “Run away with me.”

xii.

Eddy trembles all the way out of the grasshopper military camp. It doesn’t matter that Brett’s walking next to him, with an assurance that Eddy couldn’t ever have. It doesn’t matter that Brett’s whispering reassuring words that only Eddy can hear. He’s pretty sure that someone will notice them. And Brett can say all that he wants, can say that he would kill anyone who tries to stop them, anyone who tries to touch Eddy, but it doesn’t mean anything because Brett isn’t invincible.

He doesn’t relax, even when they’re out of sight. He doesn’t relax, even when it’s just them and the vast expanse of nature and nothing else.

He knows he’s still nervous because he’s babbling, and he always babbles when he’s nervous.

“Did you know I always wanted to see the sea?” he asks Brett, once he’s sure that no cockroach or grasshopper can hear them.

“No. We can go and see the sea if you want. We can go anywhere you want.”

“Have you seen it before?”

“No.”

“Then we can see it together for the first time.”

For some reason, this fills Eddy’s chest with warmth. They keep walking until at some point Eddy notices water shimmering near the horizon.

“Is this the sea?” he asks Brett, his heart beating faster in his chest.

“No. It’s a puddle.”

“Oh. That’s embarrassing. Did you know that I can hold my breath for forty minutes under water? Do you want to see?”

“No.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I was joking. It is the sea.”

“Really? Did you know that I can hold my breath for a long time?”

“Yes. You can show me tonight.”

**Author's Note:**

> I know, reader, I know. You have questions. You feel extremely unsettled. Disturbed even. Well... I’m sorry and I have no answers. You’ve just read about a grasshopper fucking a cockroach and besides apologizing for the trauma, there’s nothing I can do. 
> 
> I now return, ashamed, to self-imposed isolation. See you in August (if you’re still there). 
> 
> (Hey, enlaurement, I’m sorry too. This started as a joke but now it feels so inadequate. I swear I’ll write you a proper fic one day)


End file.
